


A Respectable Inn Near Bath - Part 3

by ladyspencer



Category: Friday's Child - Georgette Heyer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspencer/pseuds/ladyspencer
Summary: The inn near Bath seems to be a magical, romantic spot for everyone but the local rooster.  In a rare serious moment, Sherry pledges to do his utmost to safeguard the happiness of his two friends.





	

While Viscount Sheringham enjoyed a peaceful night with his lady, Gil Ringwood and the Honorable Ferdy Fakenham found that an evening of arduous and somewhat tedious work still lay before them. They were perfectly assured that the Incomparable was being escorted safely home by George, now her intended. And they were fairly confident that Sir Montagu Revesby would skulk in some unknown and faraway lair whilst he licked his wounds. However, there was still much that needed their attention. 

Upon their return to the York Hotel, they found their good intentions thwarted by the fact that not a single room could be had. This left them concerned for Mr. Tarleton, but it was also a great inconvenience for Gil. 

“Damme, Ferdy! There is some sort of curst choral society that meets at the White Hart. Sounds like a hundred full-grown cats being tortured by some foul fiend from Hell. Can’t endure it. Problem is, I had Chilham pack up my kit, and I’ve paid my shot, but in all the excitement I never took a room here.”

Ferdy thought long and hard. “Only one thing for it, Gil. I’ll have to give up my rooms to Tarleton. I don’t like the way he looks after the ride to town. Needs to be put to bed and seen by a proper surgeon. Last thing we want is to have a fever set in. Put him to bed in my room. My man will take care of him. Only one problem. We’ll both be without rooms.” He paused again to consider. “Think Lady Saltash would take us in?” 

Gil shuddered. “Better than sleeping in the park, I suppose.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Tarleton was in the competent hands of Ferdy’s man, being put comfortably to bed in Ferdy’s own bed, wearing one of Ferdy’s nightshirts. The surgeon was on his way, and the two friends seized the opportunity of descending to the coffee room where they ordered--coffee. “Lots left to do,” observed Ferdy. “Can’t relax yet, eh?”

“I certainly hope Sherry appreciates all this,” Gil observed glumly. “Probably never know, now I think of it.”

Ferdy’s Muse was hard at work, and thus he came up with another profoundly helpful idea. “I think I have it, Gil! Here’s what we should do. First, we’ll hire a chaise. We’ll pick up Chilham and your trunk at the White Hart. Next thing we do is stop at Lady Saltash’s to let her know Kitten is safe.”

“Shouldn’t we go there last?”

“No, just give me a moment.” Ferdy paused to re-capture his train of thought. “We’ll have her abigail pack up a small bag with whatever she’ll need for tomorrow.” Gil began to voice another objection, and Ferdy raised his hand. “We’ll stop at old Lady Sheringham’s, break the news to her, and have Bootle pack a bag for Sherry. Have Bootle return Tarleton’s purse and wallet to him as well.”

“So we have a hired chaise with Chilham and a small pile of baggage. What then?” Gil sounded tired.

“Simple. We drive back out to that inn. Looked perfectly respectable to me, but there wasn’t anybody there but us. Don’t imagine there will be any trouble about getting decent rooms for ourselves and a place for Chilham.”

Gil closed his eyes, imagining the wrath of Sherry when he discovered his friends staying at the same inn where--might as well face it--where his honeymoon was taking place. 

He was prevented from saying anything by the approach of the surgeon. There was nothing for it but to ask the man to be seated and pour him a cup of coffee. “The patient is doing well. I’ve cleaned and dressed the wound, and there is no sign of infection.” He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Whoever dressed it the first time did an excellent job. There’s no sign of fever, either. I’ve given your man a sleeping draught for him, but I doubt it will be needed.”

“And when will he be able to return home?” asked Gil. “He lives a few miles outside of town.”

“I see no reason why he should not be able to return to his home tomorrow provided there is no onset of fever. Thank you, gentlemen, for the coffee.” The surgeon stood and left the coffee room. 

Gil and Ferdy rose somewhat reluctantly. The night was young, and there was still much work to do. “Go and arrange it with your man,” said Gil. “I’ll order a chaise for us this evening and one for Tarleton tomorrow.” 

When the two met some minutes later, Ferdy carried a small portmanteau. “Few things for myself,” he said. 

Gil was in no mood to be amused. “We might as well move everyone out there,” he observed. “I hope this place is as respectable as you say it is.” He had begun entertaining visions of evil food and poorly aired sheets.

After a brief stop for the long-suffering Chilham, the chaise made its way to Lady Saltash’s home on Laura Place. Gil squinted up at it, relieved to find that the lights had not yet been put out. “No point in us both going,” he observed as he left the chaise. “This will go faster if I deal with my grandmother alone.” 

True to his word, Gil was back in less than half an hour carrying a small valise and a bandbox. “Went better than I expected,” he said as he took his seat in the chaise. “My grandmother was still awake, but she was too tired to make any of her usual bawdy jokes. I got out easily.”

A few moments later, they drew up in front of the dowager Lady Sheringham’s palatial lodgings. “This is going to take both of us,” asserted Gil. “You go and deal with Bootle. I’ll do the civil with Sherry’s mother and be certain the Incomparable has been returned safely.” 

They parted in the front hallway. Gil entered the drawing-room to find Sherry’s mother prostrate on a sofa. Isabella and George stood at her side--she with a glass of hartshorn and a vinaigrette, he doing his best with a fan. The old dragon had not reacted well to the news.

“Good evening, Lady Sheringham,” Gil began “I know you will be pleased to hear that Lord and Lady Sheringham are safe and well and are spending the night at a respectable inn just outside of town.” An anguished moan from the sofa caused George to ply the fan more vigorously. “They plan to return here tomorrow.”

“Oh, Anthony! My poor, poor boy! Caught forever in the snares of that female!”

The Incomparable shot a speaking glance at Gil and made a slight gesture that clearly said, “Get out while you still can.”

Gil received her message. “Yes, well, your very obedient, Lady Sheringham. Yours, Isabella. Goodnight, George,” and with a bow he was out of the room.

Ferdy awaited him in the front hall with a valise, and within moments they were headed out of Bath on the back road to Wells. “Now,” said Gil tiredly. “What do we do about Sherry?” 

Ferdy took his usual few moments for due consideration. “Simple,” he finally said. “Leave the valises with the landlord and give strict orders that they’re not to be taken up until somebody rings for a servant in the morning.” 

“And what are we going to say if Sherry finds we put up there tonight?”

“Don’t think it will be a problem, Gil. Sherry will be grateful for the trouble we took to bring them what they need. Both wearing evening clothes, as I recall. Not respectable to return to town in last night’s evening clothes. Besides, we can have Chilham awaken us early. Sneak out of there while they’re still abed.” 

“I suppose so,” Gil sighed. “Besides, we hope Sherry will be in a good mood tomorrow. Got his Kitten back.” 

After all their worry, everything at the inn went smoothly and according to plan. Sherry’s and Kitten’s valises were consigned to the landlord with strict instructions not to deliver them until the couple had rung for them. While Viscount Sheringham and his lady had the best rooms, the landlord assured them that the second-best rooms were quite comfortable, consisting of two bedchambers and a shared parlor. Chilham, having directed the delivery of their baggage, came downstairs and reported to Gil that he had unpacked for both of them and had prepared their rooms. He would now be seeking his own bed if there was nothing further. Gil enjoined the man strictly that he was to be awakened at eight o’clock, no later. 

Some time later, having enjoyed a much-needed late supper of cold roast beef, new bread, and cheese, the pair sat at their ease by the fire, feet propped up, and a bottle of surprisingly good port between them. Ferdy replenished their glasses and said, “Wonder how Sherry and Kitten are getting on.”

“No, Ferdy,” replied Gil severely. “You don’t wonder that. You don’t wonder it ever again. Not our business to wonder, so don’t do it.”

“Eh?” said Ferdy. “Good heavens! No, by God, so I won’t.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Gil said, “So when do you plan to find some nice girl and set up your nursery, Ferdy?”

“Don’t plan to,” said Ferdy decidedly. “Ain’t in the petticoat-line, and I never shall be. Let my brother take care of that, and I’ll be the doting uncle.” He paused for a moment, frowned at the fire, and went on, “Thought you might’ve known that, Gil.”

“I suppose I did,” Gil replied, replenishing their glasses. “I don’t plan to marry, either.”

“What will your family have to say about that?” asked Ferdy.

“I suspect they already know. But whatever happens, I won’t change my mind.” Gil frowned thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t be the thing for me or the girl.”

“Or for me,” replied Ferdy quietly.

Gil reached over, but instead of replenishing the glasses, he intertwined his fingers with those of his friend. A deep peace settled over the old inn as they sat together, watching the fire, watching each other, until only the embers glowed and it was time to go, arm in arm, to seek their bed.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Gil was awakened at some shockingly early hour by the insistent sounds of a crowing rooster. Mentally cursing the inconveniences of country life, he reluctantly disentangled himself from the still-sleeping Ferdy and left the warm bed, stopping on his way to pick up his clothes. 

“God isn’t even awake yet,” he muttered under his breath as he tiptoed across the parlor to his own room. There he found his nightshirt, nightcap, dressing gown and slippers laid out for him and his bed neatly turned down. He pulled the nightshirt over his head and stood considering the bed. Eventually he got into it and thrashed around a bit, pulling on the sheets, beating the pillows, and wrinkling the covers as best he could. He got up and cast a critical eye on it, deciding that it looked respectably slept in. He then put on his dressing-gown, slid his feet into his slippers, and quietly left the room.

He patted his pocket and blessed Chilham; his case of cigarillos was just where he had left it. No one was stirring downstairs, though his grandmother’s obnoxious pug slumbered on the hearth rug in the coffee room. He pushed open the front door and stepped out into the cool, fresh morning.

“Hallo, Gil!” said Sherry, nearly startling him into the afterlife. “Fine morning, if a bit early.” Sherry, similarly attired in dressing-gown and slippers, sat on the wide bench to the right of the door smoking a cigarillo. “Sit down. Plenty of room for both of us.”

Gil sat and lit his own cigarillo. “I’d still be sleeping if it weren’t for that damned rooster. I always forget how noisy it is in the country.” They smoked in companionable silence, watching as the rooster chased a frantic hen around the side of the house. “How’s Lady Sherry?” Gil finally managed.

Sherry smiled. “Upstairs sleeping like the angel she is.” 

“Ah,” returned Gil, not knowing what else to say. 

“Very decent of you to bring our clothes out to us, Gil. Found the valises and the bandbox outside our door.” Sherry paused as the squawking grew louder again and the hen rounded the side of the house, flapping and fussing with the amorous rooster in hot pursuit.

When they had disappeared again, Gil replied, “Ferdy’s the one you need to thank. He organized the whole thing. 

“Ferdy’s here, too?” 

“Upstairs sleeping.” He added silently, to himself, “Like an angel.”

“So when do we wish you happy?” Sherry said, looking over at his old friend.

Gil was saved from the need for an immediate answer by the re-appearance of the hen and the rooster.

“They need to fricassee that rooster and hire a new one,” observed Sherry. “I make that out to be their third trip round the house. We should be taking wagers on the outcome.” He turned to face his friend. “I’m in earnest, Gil. You’re almost the oldest friend I have, and I couldn’t ask for a better. I’d be a pretty poor friend if I didn’t wish for you to be as happy as I am. And I’ll do my possible to make sure you stay that way, just as you’ve done for me.”

He held out his hand, and Gil stood and shook it, and the two turned to go back into the inn. “Is that coffee I smell?” asked Sherry as they opened the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Gil and Ferdy are two of my favorite people. I tried very hard to balance the lighthearted nature of the novel with the serious interests of Gil and Ferdy. The writing of this fic was tinged with sadness because in the real world, these two might have given their lives for their love.


End file.
